Islam.
You are
the last born,
favored by God.
You call Him
Allah.
Some whisper,
that God
in reverse
becomes
Dog.
You are
not merely
a religion.
You are
a way
of life.
In the
seventh century,
you were born.
Christianity
and Judaism
are your
elder brothers.
Not
your enemies.
Christianity
has grown old.
You,
Islam,
are the youth.
May you
reach
the world,
not through
violence,
but through
peace.
Through love.
You are
no longer
a child.
More than
1.9 billion
people
follow you.
Great
is your
responsibility
upon
your shoulders.
When I walk
the streets
of Europe
and America,
many
young men
and women
knock
upon
your door.
Whether
Sunni
or Shia,
you were born
from
the same
womb.
Some
will hate
you.
Others
will love
you.
May your
moral values
be cherished.
May they
be honored.
Islam,
the world
now watches
you.
Lead
with wisdom.
Lead
with mercy.
For in
the mosque,
the faithful
proclaim,
"Allahu Akbar."
God
is the
Greatest.
What sounds can I raise to let you feel what I feel
What word opens the skies and makes the stars soar into the
Sprinkling night
How can the Divine know how we struggle to join
Chanting what the monks and nuns have learned to sing
Trattato della vera devozione a Maria: or the Muslims call out
Allahu akbar and the Buddhist humming om
The excellence of the Divine cries out amidst the suffering
And perhaps the end of the earth, pray the universe survives
Perhaps to join together in all the mystic signs
Until we can unite again until we join as fellowmen
When we learn to sing
My son was a kid in a room.
Tubs full of Star Wars figures;
Rancor Monster, Squid Head, Yak Face.
Admiral Akbar was a good guy
with a mother somewhere,
a fine woman though a bit of a trout no doubt.
but Snaggletooth with his blaster
was an irredeemable mother er.
Then, from a parallel universe,
Skeletor, Beast Man and Evil-lyn
drop from the outer rim of a boxed universe,
all arriving in a sullen haste to lay the room waste.
Evil-Lyn was hot. We kept her out of the carnage mostly,
but she was bad to the plastic bone.
My son tells me he has visions,
he sees leather-winged daemons.
I lie, tell him that there are no toy figures of those,
so they don’t exist.
On the floor, monsters are on a rampage
He-man is screwing up as usual.
For both of us
our only hope is in Optimus Prime.
Depart from your accustomed
typically usual routine.
Specialize in being a generalist.
Immerse yourself fully in the whole entirety
of the complete volume.
You’ll be surrounded on all sides
by a myriad and multitudinous plethora
of permanent and long-lasting linguistic verbiage.
Feel like a pedagogical school teacher.
Have an impactful influence on events.
Fly above the earth.
It’s deceptively mendacious,
and fine as French champagne!
Here’s a sneak peek advance preview of
Colonel J. D. Waxwood's Harmonious Concordance
of Repetitive Redundancies, Sufficient Enough Tautologies,
and Irrational Non-sequitors, from BadSeedPress:
AKBAR THE GREAT
AMERICAN INDIAN
ATM MACHINE
CENTRAL CORE
CHICKEN COQ AU VIN
CONCISE SYNOPSIS
CORRUPT POLITICIAN
FLESH COLORED
FREE GRATIS
FRESH FROZEN
GUEST HOST
HAWAIIAN LUAU
MORE PERFECT
ORIGINAL COPY
PIN NUMBER
PIZZA PIE
PRE-REGISTRATION
SELF-CENTERED NARCICIST
SILENT MUSICAL
TINY LITTLE [ANYTHING]
TUNA FISH
WISE-ASS SOPHOMORE
My voice remains so low ,
Yet I try to reach you .
My head is all mixed with philosophies of the world in which
I mention you .
I cry out loud in the silence that I never longed for.
You saw me take that, which was not meant to be mine anymore .
Yet I think where I would be if you didnt spoil me.
But you changed me to know everything that would hurt me .
Yet I think what If I didnt meet you .
- ARZOO AKBAR
Muhammad’s daughter danced through the night,
skirts smoothly swirling with her moving.
Cool colors coalescing under moonlight,
iridescent eyes sweetly soothing.
Many who sought her had pedigree.
All whom Prophet Muhammad rebuked
awaiting sign of her destiny,
silent suitor of proper repute.
Ali sold his shield to pay the mahr.
She danced her way into history.
She earned her place, proved the Shining Star,
in doing so, fated her family.
Muhammad’s daughter danced through the night,
skirts smoothly swirling with her moving.
Cool colors coalescing under moonlight,
iridescent eyes sweetly soothing.
Allahu Akbar.
In grade
Great
God
Allahu Akbar!
God can’t change, but
historian can -
that's history!
-October 26, 2018 Chattogram
//
From the quote of Prominent Bengali Writer D. AKbar Ali Khan.
Iran ousted the Shah's tyranny,
backing a Muslim theocracy.
And hate crushed any hope of freedom,
for fear, demonized democracy.
Now, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei
touts faith with a political twist.
An old popinjay stuck in the past,
he rules the land with an iron fist.
Don't accept religious slavery,
shout "Allah O Akbar!" from your roof.
And never forget those who were killed;
executed for crimes without proof.
Moussavi wants to be President,
stoking rage in the youth of Iran.
Neda's death is his rallying cry,
calling for the rights of every man.
Marchers, led by courageous women,
helped turn a trickle into a flood.
And history will remember them
as martyrs, willing to spill their blood.
(Quatrain)
7/10/2018
I am a Christian, I cannot marry the woman I love
because she's a Muslim.
These words from our families,
itches the inside of ears.
We ask them why? And they tell us,
She serves Allah and you serve Jehovah,
Different are your ways of worship
And your doctrines are not the same,
She says 'Allahu Akbar' and you say 'Jesus is Lord'.
But for all I know, there is one God
The anxiety that fills my heart is harming
Slow in my ways,
Silent in my thoughts.
Questions pop up but do not trigger
any sensory response.
Do we stay for religion to put us asunder? or
Flee far from home to be together forever?
I am but in a dilemma.
My heart tells me flee!
But my mind says no! Put religion first
I will indeed put religion first and
Yet follow my heart
For neither Christianity nor Islam
but LOVE is my religion
STRANJA
A New Life.
by Akbal Niyonkuru Rajab
Beginning has wrapped my heart,
This is a change of being me
I am tired of being anxious,
I need to find my future.
I lived in someone’s else dream,
I was just imitating like a baby learning to walk,
I used to pretend being me,
But really I was not me.
I think a lot about me,
Who really am I?
A human without goals?
Ain’t possess any dream?
Sometimes learning has become a battle to me.
I had to fight many times but
I didn’t know what I was fighting for…
I used to sleep maybe I could find who will I be,
But I was self-deception,
Maybe it was me or maybe I was overthinking.
I need to start over,
This is my resumption.
@akbar
Earth trembling
it's cold out there
even with that sun
strung up high
sun is hanged
Allahu Akbar
declined turning green
sun is suspended
lorn at stand-by mode
Allahu Akbar
sun is gasping
turned to swollen surface
metal bumblebees
repeatedly poking
circle around
shaping curvaceous silhouettes
buzzing
Allahu Akbar
shrilling
Allahu Akbar
sniveling
Allahu Akbar
swooped down to the pawns
faces turned tumid
remains blurry whether due to crying
or sharp pain occurred when
all went raven
scene left sun astonished
they didn't came to aid
they came to pulverize
sun has sealed his eyes
ceased to read their marks
bumblebees don't have a land
strategies
tactics
orders
they have
no land
child is trembling
it's cold out there
waiting for outline of cover to occur
hoping it isn't made out of plastic
and white
hoping
Allahu Akbar
for the hands
to pull that body
out of wreckage
all the fallen at western soil have a name
east remains un-censused
left incensed
oil is a seytan's tool
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they bring thur minarets,mosques and imams
An' ower the city sound the muezzins' prayer alarms
An' they mak great play o' daein' Ramadan
An' profit frae sellin liquor they themselves ban
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they wrap thur wummin in niqab and burqa
An' insist oan usin' the courts Sharia
An' don't let ye mak jokes aboot the prophet
An' tell ye ,if ye dae,ye'd better come aff it
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they chant"Allahu Akbar" wi' thur guns in thur fists
An' blaw thumsels up wi' thur suicide vests
An' aw this efter shootin' hunners ae us
An' blamin' the West fur aw ae the fuss
Haw Glesga,whit'll ye dae?
14/11. Paris
14/11 another fine day in Portugal to wake up for but the news
from Paris turned the sky grey and the sun a spent cartridge
cooling in the body of a man in a café, beer, wine and blood.
Allah Akbar, god the great and merciful, what a horrible irony
in the streets of deaths.
I walked in the sunlight that unashamedly shone on a day of dread
and it warmed my cold face and somewhere in Paris a man sits
outside and plays “Imagine” on a piano it is heart -breaking and I`m
filled with conflicting feeling anger and trying to understand what
is impossible to grasp.
I fear the backlash and the fascist demagogues who can use the shock
to their political goal and they will be believed by an incensed mob,
Arabs will be killed for belonging to Semitic tribe that have suffered
unbelievable bad luck that never seems to end.
Poems behind the bar[s],
Begging...calling from high and far,
Oh!...God...mighty...Akbar,
Whiten our souls from dirt and tar!
Help us to bring back the whiteness to the city,
And sow a climate of love and pity,
Our hearts are rotten with revenge,
And throned with hatred and blind enmity,
Help us to change and transform
The mourning and yelling that inform..
The screams of victims who roam,
The dark empty corridor(s),
Into a joyful Yuyulations,
And a baby-babbling...jubilation,
The friendly gossips and fascination,
Of the laborious quarters and more...
To recall the nightingale-like gathering,
The family bond and fathering,
The story-telling of granny-mothering,
The fairy-tails and folklore,
The early prayers and adhan..
And the break-fasting in peace-Aman,
But now we're living under a ban,
Under the general and his corps.
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